Tell Me a Story: Agents of SHIELD Collection
by Kitty O
Summary: Reposted from tumblr for my 500FollowerBash. All of the filled AoS prompts are collected here for easy access. Includes: Trip/Raina, hurt!Ward and Fitzsimmons friendship, Fitz and Tony Stark, Simmons and Mack friendship, and whump. And giant spider hallucinations. Spoilers through 2.07. Complete.
1. Prompt 1

_**A/N: So, when I hit 500 followers on tumblr, I threw a #500FollowerBash and asked people for prompts to fill. They are all filled on tumblr (my URL is kittyorleans), but I thought I should put them in a place that's easier to find. So here they are again. These are all of the AoS prompts.**_

**Prompt #1: traina doing literally anything - by antoinetriplett**

**((spoilers through 2.05))**

* * *

><p>Currently Agent Antoine Triplett had one simple job: don't let Raina screw anything or anyone up.<p>

Unfortunately, this was easier said than done.

She was a bit of a loose end now that the last disaster was over, no longer useful and nominally on the right side, but still very dangerous. They couldn't keep her with the team. And they weren't Hydra – or evil, so they couldn't get her killed. Someone had suggested sticking her in a basement, which had been mostly a joke, but Ward had thrown a hissy fit anyway.

Hissy fit. That's what Skye said. Those two had a long way to go.

But the conclusion they came to was that Raina needed a bodyguard. Someone to make sure she didn't get killed (so she would be comfortable leaving their base), and also to protect everyone else from her. Someone trained for the field – so not Fitzsimmons, and not Mack. Someone who could be trusted implicitly, so not Lance or Ward. And not Skye, because Raina still looked at her like she was some sort of present. And not May, because she wouldn't leave Coulson. Which left very few people, and Bobbi was done babysitting, so Trip got the job.

Trip hadn't minded too much. He was a specialist who did as he was told, and no job was too small. Coulson trusted him to leave the team and be okay, and that meant something. However, he did figure this would be an easy job, consisting mostly of him kicking back in a room next to Raina's and rereading some of his favorite books.

But it turned out, Raina was more of a handful than his three-year old niece. She couldn't talk to the hot dog vendor without trying to lead him into his own destruction or play him somehow.

She actually walked away with a dress that a storeowner _gave_ her on his second day of assignment. The storeowner was crying.

The next day, when he was walking down the street, she fell into stride with her.

"Agent Triplett," she said pleasantly, cocking her curly head. "I thought you were going to remain at a safe distance."

"I was," Trip told her, his eyes on the skyline. "But it occurred to me that maybe it would be safer if I just walked next to you."

"Safer for me?"

"Safer for the rest of the world."

Raina smiled gently. "You don't trust me."

"Hell no," said Trip, and he laughed, showing off his bright teeth. "Should I?"

"Probably not," she agreed. "But I trust you." Trip was looking for snipers, for someone ready to attack. How exhausting, she thought idly, to be protector of two opposing forces at once.

"You do? Why?"

"I think you're trustworthy. Oh, look, flowers." She stopped and smiled at the woman who was selling. Trip pulled up short and reached into his pocket.

"I've got it," he said, pulling out his wallet. "How much?" he asked the lady, flashing his teeth. Raina pointed to the one she wanted, and the lady handed them to her, muttering the price.

Trip handed her a bill and they walked on.

"You didn't need to do that," Raina said. "I wasn't going to do anything you wouldn't like."

"Sure you weren't," Trip responded good-naturedly, and she buried her face into the flowers.

/

"She leapt over the bar and punched the bartender in the face, which would have been great if he'd actually been Hydra, but it turned out he really was just a bartender," Trip finished with a laugh. "And that was the second time she got us kicked out of a bar."

Raina pulled her dry cleaning down from the door and walked back inside. "You have a lot of stories about your friends," she noted serenely. Usually Trip would be in his own room, but yesterday she'd received a threatening note from some small operation she'd screwed over a while ago, and so Trip was sticking close. Unless she was showering or sleeping, she was in the same room as him.

"Of course," he said, eyes on her as she wandered into the kitchenette. "You haven't told any about yours."

She laughed. It was a light, tinkling sound. Not hearty, like Skye's or May's, but assured and collected. He kind of liked it. "It's sweet of you to think I have friends."

"You don't?"

"No."

What a sad thing, Trip thought, but he didn't respond. After all, what could he say? _We're your friends_? No, they weren't. Even he didn't care about her; he was just on a mission.

"Why are you so friendly, Agent Triplett?" she asked as she reached for the fridge.

"I don't like to be alone," he responded honestly.

It was Raina's turn to think about that. What would it be like, she wondered, to not be alone? Her hand closed around the handle of the refrigerator door as Trip looked up from his lap. His eyes narrowed.

"Don't open that!" he ordered, leaping up and vaulting over the counter. As the door came open, he knocked her off her feet. He was on top of her, covering her, when the explosion went off.

/

If she'd been standing in front of the open fridge door, she would have been killed. But between Trip and the now-destroyed door, she was barely bruised.

Wriggling her way out from underneath the agent, she viewed the damage. She'd have to switch rooms, of course, and request that someone find out who had just tried to kill her.

"How inconvenient," she said to herself.

She looked at the unconscious agent. She reached for the phone – he would want her to call the ambulance, she assumed.

/

A week later, when the bump on Trip's head had mostly receded and the bruises were fading, he asked about her fascination with all of the weird alien artifacts.

"You're researching one now, aren't you?"

She shrugged, looking at the computer screen. "I started out as very little," she said. "Basically nothing. But I'm going to change. I'm excited to see what I will become. Aren't you?"

Trip sank into a chair. "You saying it with those big brown doe eyes, people must think even crazy things like that make sense, huh?"

Raina looked up at him in surprise.

"See, there we go." His teeth were as blinding as ever. Raina's face felt warm.

/

"I wasn't going to hurt the man," Raina said as Trip practically dragged her away.

"He probably wouldn't agree with that statement," Trip said, almost amused. "We're going back to the hotel early today."

"You say you want to protect people from me," she said, almost pouting. "Why? Do you really just like _people_ so much?"

Trip shrugged. "I suppose."

/

"Pizza?" Trip asked in something like indignation a week later.

"I'm hungry."

"Why don't I cook something instead?"

"You cook?"

"Very well."

"You're a medic, a specialist, a bookworm, and you cook?"

"I knit too."

/

Trip had worked near Raina for over a month now, and he'd never heard her scream. All the same, he knew what it sounded like when he heard it from the next room.

Maybe he'd been careless, letting her alone for this long, but it had been weeks with no word and no excitement, according to Coulson.

He might have made a huge mistake.

Trip was next door in the blink of an eye, gun in his hand. He threw open the door and jumped back to avoid the peppering of gunfire.

"Agent Triplett?" called Raina's soft voice from behind the kitchenette counter.

"It's me," he said.

"There are three of them."

Trip fired several shots for cover and ducked into the room, hiding behind the counter near the door – and indeed, there was Raina, alone and curled into herself.

One man screamed. A hit.

"Are you okay?" he asked Raina.

"I don't think I'm injured."

He threw her his cell phone. "Call Coulson for backup. I'll be right back."

He ducked from one piece of furniture to the next, but he figured it was the gunfire he wanted to stop – this hotel room was hardly bullet proof. He took a deep breath and got ready to run.

By the time he breathed again, he'd winged the second man, who fell to the floor, and he'd swiped up, knocking the gun away from the last enemy standing.

They wore all black, he noted as the last man landed a punch on his face, causing Trip to lose his grip on his own firearm. Masks, too, he thought as he punched the man and dived for his fallen partner's gun. He grunted when his hand was kicked aside.

Grabbing his opponent's leg, he knocked the man down. His head didn't hit the ground in a way that was satisfactory, so Trip grabbed it and slammed it down again.

He grabbed one gun in his hand, and quickly jumped up and grabbed his own. "Don't move," he ordered as he pointed one at the only man still capable of attacking. The other gun he pointed at the other living assailant – though that guy didn't look like he was going to get up anytime soon.

"Raina," Trip said, "grab the other two guns. But please, don't shoot anyone with them. Just put them down."

She smiled at his weary tone, putting the phone down on the counter as she came out of hiding.

"Coulson said he doesn't want to risk exposing anyone in case this was a trap, but he's sending us help."

"Great."

"You're very good at your job, Agent Triplett," she said, scooping up the guns – and for once actually doing as she was told.

He glanced her way once in mild surprise. It wasn't the compliment – Raina was honest, not a flatterer, but she'd tell you if you did something right. It was just that it suddenly occurred to him – he hadn't thought about this being a mission at all in the past few hours, and especially not in the past few minutes. Raina had been in trouble. He had come to help.

"I'm glad you haven't been killed," said Raina politely, and coming from her, he felt like that actually meant a lot.


	2. Prompt 2

**Prompt #2: Something where Ward needs a shot or something and Fitzsimmons mixes it up with something else, so he ends up getting so sick he's hallucinating and they have to talk him out of it so they can help him? - Anonymous**

**((no Hydra AU))**

* * *

><p><strong>List of things Grant Ward hates #1: Poison.<strong>

The mission wasn't supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be dangerous and scary, and Ward knew that.

"I don't see anyone," he said out loud as he glanced once more around the empty, dilapidating room.

"Careful," said Skye in his earpiece. "These guys are like, ninjas or something, right?"

"Not nominally," said Ward.

And then he turned around, and was immediately hit about the face with someone he had not seen coming. Or heard coming. Seriously, where had this guy come from?

"Uhh," he said, straightening to land a blow of his own, but before he could regain his equilibrium, there was someone behind him, pressed into his back. And then a pinching, sharp pain in his neck.

"Dammit!" he said aloud. He knew what a needle felt like. He put his hands up over his shoulders, grabbing his attacker and throwing – a light male, he decided as he sent the man flying.

"Ward? Ward," Skye was saying in his ear. And then she was gone and there was May instead.

"Agent Ward, what is…?"

"I'm fine," Ward snapped. He crouched his knees and waited for his darkly clad attacker to scramble to his feet. "I'm just in the middle of something?"

"Do you need help?"

"If you can get here in twenty seconds. If not, I got this."

Ward was ready for the kick when it came, but he also realized that his attacker was stalling. And there was probably a good reason for that. Was the room starting to spin?

**List of Things Grant Ward Hates #2: Being shot at while poisoned.**

When Ward walked out of the building a little over a minute later, he was holding the syringe that he'd been injected with.

"Okay, I grabbed the documents," he said. He was holding those too. "I'm walking towards you now."

"I'm glad you're okay," said Skye in his ear.

"Well, actually," said Ward.

"But we're actually not. Remember those guys from last week? They're back and they're pissed off," said Skye. "You should stay out of the bus until the gunfire goes down." Sure enough, he could hear gunfire.

"Can't," Ward said, "Been poisoned, and I need to get it to Fitzsimmons. Skye, you're a sitting duck by the console, get away from there."

"Aye aye," said Skye, and she was gone.

Ward knew the world was starting to look a little sideways, which meant that he shouldn't be driving. He also knew that he had a few hours, and he needed to get to Fitzsimmons in a few minutes to save himself, and thus help save the team.

He also figured that it would shake the shooters up a bit if someone drove right through them and up to the bulletproof lab doors.

"The attackers are in the bus," May's voice said faintly over his earpiece.

"I'll be there in a minute," said Ward, blinking hard as he unlocked the car he'd driven here.

Four minutes later, he was driving haphazardly up the ramp, bullets ricocheting off the car, occasionally leaving little holes. He screeched to a stop mere inches before he hit the lab door, gasping. Looking up through the window, he saw Fitz staring at him in frank disbelief from underneath a table in the lab.

He motioned towards the door. _Could you please let me in?_

Fitz stared at him, and mouthed, _What?!_

Ward gestured more urgently, _Let me in!_

Ward couldn't actually hear him, but he was pretty sure Fitz shouted something about people with guns shooting at them.

Ward held up five fingers. Fitz shook his head. Four. Fitz appeared to be yelling at Jemma, and her head briefly appeared as she made her way away from the door. Three. Fitz gave Ward a death glare. Two. Ward cracked open his door. One finger up, and Ward was running, knowing that if Fitz didn't open the door, he was dead. Deader than he already was.

Fitz, of course, opened the door, and two bullets flew overhead as Ward dove inside and the door slammed shut again – locked tight.

"Gee, thanks," Fitz said irately, "You could have gotten us killed! Why didn't you just stay outside?"

Ward straightened up and nearly fell over. "I've been poisoned," he said, throwing Fitz the syringe. (Fitz nearly dropped it.) "Do you have the antidote? Is it safe in here?"

"Unless they drive a car through the glass," Simmons said. "This glass is bulletproof, thanks to… you know, last time. Fitz, give me that, I'll look at it – Ward, how long ago where you injected?"

"Between ten and fifteen minutes," Ward said. "I think. Maybe. Time's gone squiggly."

Fitz made a noise of – something. Concern? Irritation? – and he skittered over to his computer. "The others are trying to keep in touch. We could probably beat these guys from in here, like we did before. But I need to know what to do. And, you know, orders."

"Are we going to blow a hole in the side of the plane again?" asked Ward.

"Wouldn't do much good, would it?" Simmons said from her microscope. "We're on the ground. Ward, come here, I recognize this. I think we do have the antidote."

**List of Things Grant Ward Hates #3: Fitzsimmons injecting the wrong drug because they're busy being shot at while he's poisoned.**

"Is this it?" Ward asked as he grabbed up a syringe.

"No," Simmons said, taking it away from him. "That's the experiment I was working on when this happened. Don't inject it. _This_," and here she picked up a similar looking tube, "is the antidote. Don't worry, whatever they gave you won't have any lasting effects. And I think Coulson will find it very interesting, because it's only from…"

"Simmons, not to be rude, but I can't breathe. I need to breathe, Simmons. Give me the drug."

"Antidote," she said, "And yes, of course."

Just then, the bus rocked violently, and most of the lights went out. Ward barely caught himself from sprawling on the ground, and Simmons had to grab the table.

"I think they just rammed us with a car!" Fitz said in disbelief.

"Oh, _bloody hell_," swore Simmons, which would be funny in any other occasion. "The cooler!"

"The power won't be out too long," Ward said. But Simmons had already put the syringe down.

"You don't understand," she moaned. "If those get warm, they'll be ruined!"

"Put them in the ice chest," Fitz said, running up. "Go, I'll give Ward the injection."

"Do it quickly," said Ward as Simmons ran off without a second thought. He turned so he could look out the glass doors. "I think they are planning to run through the glass doors. What weapons have you got in here?"

"Um, all of them?" said Simmons as she frantically moved small jars and petrie dishes from the fridge into an actual ice-filled ice chest. They must have foreseen this.

"Good," said Ward. "I may need the – Ow!"

"Sorry," said Fitz as he pulled out the syringe. "Thought it might be better if you weren't looking. I know shots scare you."

"Shots don't –" Ward turned around to argue. And then he saw it. The syringe still sitting on the counter, full of antidote, right next to the on that had held poison.

He looked at Fitz, who still held the empty one in his hand.

"Oh, Fitz," he said with resignation. "_Fitz_."

**List of Things Grant Ward Hates #4: Giant spiders crawling out of the wall because Fitzsimmons injected him with the wrong drug because they're busy being shot at while he's poisoned.**

"Give me the antidote too," Ward ordered Simmons when she rushed over to see what fresh disaster was going on. Ward was already moving, though, over by the weapon cabinet. He grabbed one of the bigger guns.

"What?" cried the biochemist. "We can't just pump you full of mixed – you aren't a cocktail, Ward."

"I need the antidote, Simmons," responded Ward.

"But we don't know what this other drug is going to do!

"_I'm dying, Simmons_."

"I guess we can't kill you twice," Simmons said with a sigh, coming forward with the antidote. "We need to get you to a hospital…"

"We're being shot at," pointed out Fitz, who was currently wringing his hands. "I'm sorry, Ward," he said again, uselessly.

Meanwhile, Ward had frozen and was staring at the wall, no longer paying Simmons attention. He went very pale. "Fitz," he said in a weak voice, reaching for his ICEr.

"What?"

Ward held the ICEr out. "If I try to shoot someone who isn't the enemy, ICE me. If I start yelling, ICE me. If I do anything too weird, ICE me." Fitz took it, nodding.

"Do you really want to add dendrotoxin to your body?" Simmons cried, scandalized.

"No," Ward said, pointing at the wall. "I _really_ _want_ to shoot that." But he wasn't pointing at anything.

"They're driving towards the lab!" Fitz yelled in alarm.

"Get back!" Ward ordered as he pushed the two scientists behind him. Simmons must have given him the antidote. Who knows? He was trying not to look at the fuzzy shape that was dancing on the wall near the door.

Ward lifted the gun as the car crashed right past the one he'd driven here and shattered through the glass.

**List of Things Grant Ward Hates #5: His team being in danger.**

It could have been longer, but it felt like only a few minutes before things had settled down and the team was climbing through the glass into the room.

Simmons was practically clinging to his arm, and she was wearing a lovely ballgown. He really liked that, but she didn't seem to appreciate it when he told her.

"Good work, Agent Ward," Coulson said as he looked down at one of the carcasses.

Coulson didn't like Ward much, which was why it was always a little funny when he complimented the specialist.

"No problem," said Ward. "I hate spiders anyway; rather them dead."

"What?" said Skye, looking confused.

"Sorry, sorry," said Ward. "I'm fine. There are no spiders." He needed to sit down. No, wait, he was already sitting down, wasn't he? It was such a hard thing to remember. He was fine, though, really he was.

"What's wrong with Ward?" Coulson asked Simmons.

"I'm _so_ sorry," Fitz said again. Ward stared determinedly at the wall. It would stand still if he concentrated.

Simmons started to say something about how they were going to fix it, but then Ward saw him. The man he'd fought with earlier, standing there behind his team. He was armed, and here to hurt them.

"Guys," Ward tried to choke, but no one seemed to hear him. Wasn't he talking out loud?

The man took aim, and Ward's stomach dropped.

He could barely stand, but his job obviously wasn't finished, so he struggled to his feet.

There was yelling – did they see the enemy finally? – and someone touched him. Several someones. He didn't care – moving was like swimming – he dove –

He didn't remember anything else.

**List of Things Grant Ward Hates #6: Hospitals.**

Ward always knew where he was the second he woke up; being disoriented was not for him.

But now, when he became aware, he didn't know where he was, and he didn't remember going to bed. So he kept his eyes shut and thought.

Soft bed. Not expensive feeling, though, so he hadn't been kidnapped by someone particularly rich. There was a faint beeping, so….

Hospital?

Yes, but was it an evil-kidnapping-hospital or a your-friends-put-you-here-hospital?

He waited a few more seconds, trying to think about this, when a quiet voice said, "I can tell you're awake, Ward."

Ward opened his eyes, and Fitzsimmons were sitting by his bed. "The latter, then," he noted out loud. "Can I sit up?"

"Might want to stay down for a while," said Simmons. "We needed an actual doctor for you after that, um, accidental experiment. Luckily we could get you to one since you managed to take out most of our attackers, without even blowing a hole in the plane. And, on the even brighter side," she finished with a smile, "I have some truly fascinating data from this unfortunately unrepeatable experiment."

Ward snorted. "When do I get out?"

"Tomorrow morning," said Simmons. "May says she doesn't blame you for tackling her."

Ward's eyes slid to Fitz. Preemptively, the engineer said, "I feel like an idiot, and I am so sorry."

"You ICEd me?"

"A little. You told me too. Look, I am…"

"Don't worry about it," Ward told him. "Simmons got distracted, there was gun fire – it really wasn't your fault." He understood the fear of screwing up, and Leo Fitz had it in spades.

"Yes, it was mine more than yours, Fitz," said Simmons. "I, too, apologize."

"No one was permanently hurt," said Ward, leaning his head back. Silence. His head shot up again. "Right?!"

"No, no," soothed Simmons. "Everyone's fine. Even you."

"Good."

"I will make this up to you," Fitz swore. "You can pick the movies on movie night for the next two weeks, and I'll order you some Chinese for it. I'll pay. It'll be great. Sound good?"

Ward smiled softly. "It'll be great, Fitz," he said. "That sounds like a first-class apology."

At last, Fitz smiled back at him, relieved.

**List of Things Grant Ward Hates #7: Take-out.**

(But don't tell Fitzsimmons.)


	3. Prompt 3

**Prompt #3: May I please have a Simmons and Mack friendship story? - valiantarcher**

* * *

><p>It was one of those things that just spiraled wildly out of control.<p>

It was just a normal mission, but they'd needed a mechanic to work some magic and tie the whole thing together. Fitz, as an engineer, would have been perfect, but he had trouble with his hands, so they'd put him on the other side of the technical part of the mission – back on the bus, trying to fix it so they could actually make a getaway. Lance was with Fitz, because it turned out Simmons was a terrible pair of hands for her best friend of many years. Instead, she suited up with the rest of them.

And when the call from Mack came in that he was going to need a hand, she sighed and looked at the others, who were in position and she said, "I've got it." She grabbed her gun and ran towards where Mack was working with the machines.

And she'd just taken hold of the wrench that he pointed toward when the men burst in. She screamed and went for her gun – too far away, so instead she swung the wrench and managed to hit one man above the eye.

And then Mack grabbed her and wrapped her in his (frankly _gargantuan_) arms, pressing her into his (_muscled_) chest just as the explosion knocked them off their feet and into the wall.

"I was fine, thanks to you, but you were unconscious and frankly too big to move off of me, so then they came and knocked me out," Jemma finished explaining as she tied the bandage around Mack's (still really, really big) arm.

"Why didn't they kill us?" asked Mack as he tried to lean back. Simmons pointed authoritatively at the cup of tea next to him. Mack picked it up.

"I'm pretty sure they wanted us to figure out the machinery for them. It would be quicker than doing it themselves. Or maybe they thought you were gifted, what with those arms…"

"They are nice, aren't they? We escaped, though, right?"

"Yes."

"I've asked you that before?"

"Yes, twice," Simmons said. "But don't worry about it, Mack, the memories will come back to you."

When they'd woken up, on their way toward doom and probably a cheerless cell, Simmons had pointed out to Mack that chances of escape went down dramatically once the lock was turned, and they had to act now. So Simmons, who had recently been convinced by Coulson to try watching Star Trek, pretended to have an allergic reaction to the knockout agent and began gagging. She collapsed onto her knees, unbalancing her captor and distracting the other one long enough for Mack to land a punch, and then the fight was on.

"Mack," Simmons said, kneeling at his feet and glaring up at him. "Drink the tea."

"Thanks, really, but I don't like tea."

"You've told me that three times, but it's ginger lemon and will help with the nausea."

He took a swig and made a face. "So is that when I got this?" He pointed to his bruised head.

"No," Simmons said, clapping her knees and standing up. "But you did save my life again then. You did that at least twice today, so thank you."

"You saved mine, too, though," pointed out Mack. "You took out the guy who was shooting at me, didn't you?"

"You remember that?"

"I remember you telling me."

"Good! No, you got the head injury when we were running away. We fell down an incline, which is when you hurt your wrist, and where I got this." She gestured at the streak of blood across the side of her head. It had been seen to, but she knew she still looked like hell. "But we fell right into the range of the others while they were looking for us, so it was all okay in the end."

"So it sounds like we spent our day alternating kicking ass and getting our asses kicked."

Simmons smiled serenely. "I would call that accurate, sir."

"Did Fitz freak out when we showed up looking like this?"

"Yes, he did. And so did we all, because then you passed out."

Mack chuckled as she sat gently next to him on the sofa. "So it was a good day."

Simmons leaned her aching head back. Together they were quite a sight. "Yes," she agreed. "And then they lived happily ever after."

Mack leaned back to, letting his next words roll around in his head before he spoke them. "Did I ever apologize," he said at last, slowly, "for upsetting you last week when I accused you of shoving off?"

"Twice," Simmons said. "It's forgotten."

Mack looked at her sideways. "Did I do this?" He reached out, waited for her to pull away and when she didn't – pulled her soundly and firmly into tight embrace. And from within the folds of his encompassing hug, a slightly squished but ultimately comfortable Jemma Simmons managed to squeak:

"Three times."


	4. Prompt 4

**Prompt #4: something where Tony and Fitz meet and geek out together? - by Anonymous**

**((post IM3, post Aos 2.07. Some language.))**

* * *

><p>Agent Leo Fitz had never been called <em>petty<em>, but that wasn't because it wasn't true – it was more because he hadn't run into someone rude enough to say it yet. Fitz had never been good at making friends, anyway, and he couldn't help resent a little that it was so difficult for him.

He worked very hard to overcome it, but the instant dislike he felt towards some people was hard to hide. He could get over it, of course – most of his friends were people he'd thought he'd dislike. And no, Jemma, he didn't just assume he'd dislike everyone.

He didn't particularly like men with broad shoulders, or people who yelled a lot, or people who thought intelligence was something to laugh at, or people who were smarter than him, or people who laughed at him in general. He'd thought he was getting over that last thing, too, but then he drowned and the insecurity came rushing back.

The point was, he hadn't thought he'd like Grant Ward, or Jemma Simmons, or Mack.

And he didn't think he'd like Tony Stark.

Tony Stark was decisively an asshole. He laughed at people all the time, and he was overly dramatic, and he was probably smarter than Fitz – and only Jemma was allowed to be smarter than Fitz. And he owned this building that was like a… a…. skyscraper, yes, thank you, Jemma.

He was not the kind of person Fitz liked.

Fitz had been in the tower with Coulson and Skye. Mack was in the car still, but he was coming. The others were back on the plane, but Coulson was borrowing tech and Fitz might be needed to help. Pepper gave them all something to drink and showed them to a sofa, but only Skye sat down. Fitz looked around the room with awe and a little bit of distaste. It was opulent. Large, beautiful, and shiny. The man who had this house was doubtless the same way. Talented, arrogant, and with full control of his mental facilities. Fitz had heard Stark speak a few times, of course, but he'd never been so close.

"Agent Coulson, you son of a bitch."

Stark was down the stairs in a matter of seconds, laughing and clapping the director on the shoulder. "Cap told me you were still kicking, but I thought it was just his cataracts acting up. You got a lot of nerve pulling that. I should go to the media."

"Hello, Mr. Stark." They shook hands.

"Really, though, it's a neat trick…. You'll have to show it to me. Hello, who are you?" asked Tony, holding out his hand to Skye.

She stood up to shake it, looking a little starstruck. "I'm Agent Skye," she said, holding herself together.

"Pleasure," said Stark, smiling.

Fitz wondered if he would just be forgotten. He didn't plan on speaking unless spoken to, but it would be nice to be noticed even though he wasn't a pretty girl and –

"You must be Leopold Fitz," said Tony Stark, grabbing his shoulder.

What?

"Of course I've heard of you," Stark said with a laugh.

"…How?" Fitz managed to stutter.

"Maria and Cap both told me about the device that saved them back when everything… well, you know. Feces, fan. Cut right through solid metal? That's nice stuff; I couldn't believe I didn't invent it. So I looked it up, and lo and behold – Leo Fitz, engineer who graduated almost as early as I did. Impressive, kid."

Fitz loved Tony Stark.

It took him a little while to figure it out, but he did eventually. His first thought – that Stark was an ass – was true. What he hadn't realized is that when Stark singled you out in his own ass-ish way, it was extremely flattering. Tony Stark had a gift. When he teased you, you felt special.

When he complimented you, you just knew you were the most brilliant damn engineer the world had ever seen.

Also, his toys were so cool.

"Even Fury used it?" Stark continued. Coulson looked uncomfortable. "I mean, of course, he's dead _now_," said Tony, and winked at Coulson.

"The director is dead," said Coulson.

"Nope, that's what they said about you," said Tony. "The trust is gone, Agent. He's alive until I finish hacking the grave."

"Wait, you're _what_?" said Skye.

"I'll put everything back where I found it. So, Mr. Fitz, I warn you that I have every intention of stealing you from SHIELD. You want to see my lab?"

"No, we really have to-"

"Yes," Fitz said, interrupting the director. Coulson let him go, too, because Coulson – like most of the team – had a hard time telling him no right now. And he intended to use that to his full advantage.

/

"This is amazing," Fitz said as he fingered one of the gadgets. "I'd love to see the… uh… the, uh…" He waved his hand, hoping the word would come to him.

Tony Stark sat back and waited for him to find it.

Fitz held up one finger, asking for patience.

"Spit it out, man."

"Blueprints."

"I'll send them to you. So what's with the stutter? At first I thought you were just nervous, but it's in your hands too, huh?" Tony snapped a rubber band and then threw it over his shoulder. He stopped, wrote something down, and looked at Fitz again

This lab felt like home.

"My hands stutter," Fitz said, raising an eyebrow.

"Like they should know the words but don't," Tony continued relentlessly.

"One of our team was Hydra," Fitz said. "And I thought I could help him, and he ejected our pod from the plane and I drowned," Fitz said emotionlessly. "My partner, she saved my life, but she couldn't save all of me." He didn't stutter once.

Tony was not silently reflective, or respectfully polite, or anything that most people were.

"Bastard," he noted sagely. "Not to make it about me – well, who am I kidding – but my uncle-figure tried to get me murdered in Afghanistan." He tapped his chest where used to be an arc reactor.

"Wish I could fix my… br… head with surgery," Fitz said.

"I'll work on it," Tony said, and Fitz thought he actually might.

"What did you do about the, uh, uncle?"

"Blew him up," Stark said. "For the good of the world. What did you do?"

"Nothing," Fitz lied.

Tony nodded and leapt to his feet. "Okay, I've waited long enough. Enough of the emotions crap, show me how you worked out that design before Agent comes back and steals you. That baby was cool."

"Yes, yes, it was." Fitz went for a piece of paper. "I'm not always good at remembering old designs," he warned.

"You'll figure it out," said Tony with absolute confidence. "You've got it."

And for a moment, Fitz thought that maybe he was right.


	5. Prompt 5

**Prompt #5: Fitz, Ward, and Simmons are trapped in some sort of dangerous situation or are captured or tortured. - by princessmelia**

Grant Ward was pressing a rag to his head, soaking up the rest of the blood.

Jemma Simmons was nursing her hands close to her chest.

Leo Fitz kept touching his eye and his bruises, only to flinch away again.

And all three were seated in the dark, glancing at each other with glittering and nervous eyes.

/

"I'd like to take full responsibility for the attempt."

Ward sat at a table in a dark room. The only things in here were him, the table, the light above, and the man who sat across from him. Ward thought of three ways he could kill this man right now and didn't move a muscle.

"It was your idea, or you'd like to take responsibility?" asked the man. He was a white guy, probably a few years older than Ward. Generally boring-looking, forgettable, but Ward had every line of his face memorized. He was tapping his finger. He'd had a pencil last time Ward saw him, and he'd tapped that. Ward smiled to himself, and then focused once more.

Ward paused. "It was my idea."

"You don't seem to me to be in the business of making plans that fail," said the man, and Ward had to lower his head to keep the man from seeing the anger in his eyes. His anger was always so close to the surface these days.

"I was desperate," said Ward. "I have no friends, outside or inside, to help me. Getting rescued means I rot in a cell somewhere. Staying here means I rot in a cell somewhere, or maybe just die."

"No friends anywhere?"

"I'm the only friend I've got." Ward flexed his fingers. He could probably grab this guy's head and bash it into the table hard enough to knock him out, maybe kill him. He could probably stand up quickly enough to grab his head, and then punch him in the throat. Might even crush it, and then the man would suffocate. Maybe drown.

"What about those two scientists? I thought they were your friends."

"They're ex-colleagues."

"That's it?"

"I thought we already talked about all of this."

The man leant back. _Tap tap tap._ Ward wanted to rip his finger off. "I'm just curious," he said. "After all, you were apprehended in the girl's room."

"I was hoping to steal some of the information she had on you."

The man perked up. "Then there was information on me that she isn't telling me."

Ward's face didn't change. "I doubt it," he said. "I found nothing in the room." He went over the information in his head, but kept his eyes on his interrogator. _Simmons isn't my friend. Simmons is telling the truth; she doesn't have the information. _And she didn't. Fitz had pitched the hard drive out of the window.

He was keeping that part to himself.

"Does your arm hurt, Mr. Ward?"

"Yes," said Ward blandly.

The man sighed and looked down at the table, as though expecting to see a paper to help him. But they didn't even have paper in the room.

_You're worried I'll kill you with paper but you leave that tie on. Amateur, _Ward thought. He had no idea where the other man was now – or if he was still alive. Ward had them spooked because he'd rammed that pencil into the other man's neck. He'd hoped to get a shot at the eye, but he had had to take what he could get. He smiled slightly.

Damn, it was still funny.

But then he remembered precisely why he wasn't trying his luck again, and his smile fell from his face.

The forgettable interrogator was ready to wrap things up. "So you take full responsibility for the escape attempt. You coerced the other two into it. You are aware there isn't an official record here, aren't you?"

"Of course," said Ward. "I just didn't want there to be any misunderstandings."

"You're trying to protect the scientists," guessed the interrogator. "I thought you weren't friends?"

"I see no reason to make them share the blame when it belongs to me. And I may not be here to make friends, but…" Ward gestured at him with his bound hands. "Maybe I could stand to make less enemies."

"You're in the same boat as them, so you don't want them to hate you."

"Oh," said Ward. "They already hate me."

"Mr. Ward, you are nothing if not efficient."

/

Ward had been in Simmons's room.

Simmons certainly hadn't known he was going to be there.

"Her room", at the time, was a hotel room. The villain of the week was at large, some man named Domitian. Skye insisted they had him in the ropes, and Simmons was ready to go at a second's notice.

"Well, keep the drive on hand," she said into the phone as she slipped her key into her room. "Yes, Fitz, I know that Skye's says we've got – well, Skye's been wrong before. What if he makes a run for it? Okay. Okay." She walked inside and flipped on the light. "Okay, see you in a few minutes, Fitz." She hung up.

Immediately a warm, large mass slammed into her, nearly knocking her off of her feet. She struggled to regain her balance as the attacker grabbed her and pushed her onto the closet door. She opened her mouth to scream, her heart rate shooting through the roof.

His hand clamped down, and held her nose.

She couldn't breathe. She was going to suffocate, she thought, panicked, and tried to kick her attacker.

"_Please shut up,_" ex-Agent Grant Ward hissed in her ear. "It's just me."

That actually did nothing to calm her down. Her whole body was pressed up against that of the man who pushed her out of the plane. She'd fallen through the air, into the ocean… And he'd betrayed her. And she'd threatened to kill him.

She could feel his breath on her neck.

"They're coming."

She froze and immediately relaxed. Her let go of her nose, but kept his hand tentatively over her mouth.

"Right outside," he said. "Speak over a whisper, they'll hear you."

He moved his hand.

"Domitian?" she whispered, and he nodded. He was still pressed up against her, but she'd completely forgotten that in her sudden alarm. "But…"

"We can try for the window, but I don't think we'll make it," said Ward. "You should call Fitz; he's the only one left in the building."

"He can't be here," she finally managed to whisper back. "The others…"

"Are on a wild goose chase." He was after Domitian too, Simmons remembered. They'd known that, but they hadn't cared. It wasn't unusual for their ex-teammate at large to be after the same man as them. "He's here for you two," Ward said, still in that breathy whisper. Simmons trembled a little.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"I am."

"How do I know?"

"Look, they're going to get here, and they'll get Fitz if you don't…" He made a mistake. He grabbed her arm, hoping to press the point home.

"Let go!" she snarled, forgetting to stay quiet, jerking away.

The window shattered and the door exploded open at the same time, and the men rushed in. Simmons screamed and grabbed for her phone while Ward pushed her back behind him. "Call him!" he shouted.

Simmons was already on the phone. "Pick up," she hissed as the men descended on them.

Ward punched the first guy in the face.

"No guns," he grunted to Simmons.

_They want us alive. _

_"Simmons?"_

"Fitz, thank you God. Get rid of it, they're coming. They're coming now, they – Fitz? _Fitz_?" But Fitz was gone, and soon enough the phone was ripped from Simmons's hands. She jerked back, confused that Ward had left her here – and then she saw him on the ground. His eyes were closed and he wasn't moving.

"Ward!" she said, forgetting her desire to never see him again for a second. She kicked an attacker in the shin and dropped to her knees by his head, reaching for his neck.

Her hand was shaking, but she wiped it off on her blouse and tried again.

They grabbed her arms and dragged her away, but not before she felt his pulse, tapping away beneath her fingers like it was keeping time.

/

_One time, at the Academy, Fitz barged into Simmons' room and found her staring at her hands. _

_"What's going on?" he asked. "You spill chemicals?"_

_"I have pretty hands," she told him. "No, really, look at them." She held them up in front of his eyes, and he lifted his eyebrows. _

_"They're nice."_

_"They're beautiful. I could be a hand model. Look at my fingernails. I take good care of them, and see how nicely shaped they are – not too long, and not too short. I could make a living."_

_"You want to make a living as a hand model? Are you stressed about finals?"_

_Simmons laughed and fell back on her bed, grinning at him. _

_He grinned back at her. _

The first thing they did when she wouldn't tell them everything was wedge chips under her fingernails and pull them out.

/

While Ward was gone pleading his case to the ordinary looking man, Fitz had his arms wrapped around Simmons while she cried. They huddled in the corner of their own empty room and tried to stay as quiet as possible.

"It's going to be okay," Fitz said to her in a low voice.

"Fitz," she said, taking deep breaths while he rubbed her back. "Fitz, we're going to die. They'll decide we're too much trouble and they'll kill us."

"It's going to come out okay," said Fitz. "We'll survive, and you know there's nothing we can't handle." He pulled her tighter into himself.

He hadn't held her like this in a long, long time, but he would enjoy it more if she wasn't so upset.

"My hands hurt," she whispered, and started to lift them.

He grabbed her wrists. "Don't touch," he told her. "Don't look right now, it'll only upset you. That will heal."

She nodded and buried her dirty head into his neck.

He didn't let go. He didn't think he could.

/

Fitz had hit up the kitchen after thoroughly infuriating the hotel maid. She didn't speak English very well, and he stuttered terribly. The conversation had been difficult, so he slipped Simmons's flash drive into his pocket and went to stuff his face.

He was on his way back to his room when Skye let him know the team had left to get Domitian.

"What should I, um, do with it?" Fitz was asking. "I can pack it with the rest of the stuff. Yeah, well, Skye says… that we definitely have him. I guess. I guess. I'll just keep it with me until I can hand it off to you. Come down to the room and get it; I don't want to be in charge of it. See you in a few minutes? Bye."

He threw his jacket onto the bed, and flopped down next to it. He took several deep breaths and flexed his hand.

And then he went to the bathroom. He put his phone on the counter, and tapped his good fingers carelessly along the shower curtain.

His phone started ringing when he was washing his hands. He cast it a despairing glance as the sink started to fill (bad pipes, he thought), because his hands were currently lathered in soap.

It was Simmons. She probably just wanted him to let her into the room, he figured as the water ran over his hand. He wiped them off on his pants, turned off the faucet, and picked up.

"Simmons?"

_"Fitz, thank you God. Get rid of it, they're coming. They're coming now, they – "_

Leo Fitz had been dropped out of a plane a year or so ago, and while he was improving, he still stuttered when he was nervous. One of his hands still didn't work as well as the other, and when he forgot to concentrate, he could mess up with it.

That was the hand he was holding his phone with.

And when Jemma said that, he panicked and dropped the phone. It fell – _splash_ – and landed in the stubborn puddle that hadn't drained away.

"Damn," he said.

_They're coming. _

He knew what that meant.

He shoved his hand into his pocket, and Fitz was at the window in a second. He wedged up the pane and stuck his head out the window, looking for his enemy – and dropping the flash drive into the bushes.

Then he turned around and went towards the door, but he didn't make it two steps before the door burst open and people came rushing in.

Fitz had spirit and he could get out of sticky situations with EMTs and gumption, sometimes, with all his pinkies attached. But when it came right down to it, he was still just an injured engineer with a stuttering brain and a bad hand. There wasn't much he could do.

While they dragged him up to Simmons's room, he worried about the hotel staff and manager, but once the door flew open, his head was in the game.

He looked at Simmons first. Held back, her hair falling down, but still whole, as far as he could tell.

"Ward?" he said with some disgust as he saw the man stretched unconscious on the floor.

"I don't think he's with them," Simmons said. "He was trying to give me some warning."

"Good job," was all Fitz could think to say. He pulled uselessly against his captor.

/

Escaping had been Fitz's idea.

"I'll be useless," Simmons said, waving her injured hands and flinching. "As I've been for the last full day."

"You're fine," Ward said, still holding the rag to his head. Head wounds bled a lot, he'd told them, and there was no need to worry. They'd told him they weren't worried. "You've done as well as you could."

It was really weird to get support from Grant Ward, traitor. Simmons chose not to bring it up.

"The longer we stay here, statistically the less our chances of escaping," said Fitz clearly and quietly.

"We haven't seen Domitian yet," said Ward, and the scientists looked at him. "That's why I was in the hotel to begin with," he said, glancing towards the door. "I say we wait until he shows and I take him out."

Fitz leveled a glare at him and took a step closer. "We'll have to hold out for a while until he, uh, shows up."

"And once the team gets too far ahead of them, or too close to us, our information is no longer valuable," Simmons chimed in from a little farther away. "Domitian might not make an appearance."

"We should wait," Ward said, looking down at them.

Fitz grabbed his arm and shifted just slightly so that Simmons would have a hard time seeing his mouth. "We're not playing a… a war of attrition." If those weren't the words he was looking for, he settled for them. Then, lower he said, "I'm not letting Jemma go through anything else." He was sporting a black eye himself.

Ward glanced behind him at the biochemist.

"And I am trying, no matter what you do," said Fitz in a more firm voice.

Ward couldn't let him do that alone. He nodded, and then he jerked away from Fitz's hand. That was the first time they'd touched each other in a very long time.

/

The actual escape attempt was short.

They waited for the men to come in, but didn't wait to see what they wanted. Simmons, despite her claim of uselessness, elbowed the first man who tried to lay a finger on her. She may have broken his nose, but he did punch her back.

Ward's hand delved into the pocket of the best dressed man, and found a pencil.

"I thought I saw this," he said, and drove it into the man's neck. He yanked it back out, of course – he wasn't giving up his only weapon. The man gurgled and fell, and Ward pushed him away as blood fountained through his fingers and onto his shoes.

Ward punched another, and threw a third man off his back. He had to get to one of the men with guns. If he had a gun, he'd never lose. But he didn't get to use the pencil again.

Simmons yelped, but when Ward turned, he saw that she was fine. Fitz, on the other hand, had his eyes squeezed shut, his back pressed against the man holding him tightly, and a gun leveled directly at his head.

"Put it down," said the man of Ward's blood-soaked pencil. "Or I'll shoot him, and _then_ you."

Ward looked at Simmons, and saw her looking at him in terror, unsure if he was going to do as he was told.

Ward sighed heavily, brows snapping together, and relaxed his hand.

The pencil dropped through the air and landed with a dull finality. Next to it, the stabbed man tried to give a little scream. Ward couldn't help but smile.

He pushed that away, and before another word could be spoken, he put his head up and announced, "It was my idea."

"What?" said Simmons in a small voice, but her eyes were still on Fitz.

"Trying to escape," Ward said. "It was my idea."

/

"Do you think he's going to come back?" Fitz asked Simmons as they huddled together on the floor, after she had finished her crying. He was still rubbing her back.

"If they believe it was his idea," she said. "They're going to punish him. But I don't know if they'll kill him or not."

"I feel guilty."

"You shouldn't," Simmons said, trying to sound fierce, but her voice was still shaky. "It's not like this even goes very far into making up what he did to you."

They didn't talk again until the door opened and Ward stumbled inside. Fitzsimmons separated from each other and leaned forward as Ward fell into a sitting position.

He looked up at them, and Fitz recoiled. Simmons stayed steady. He still had the strange man's blood on his hands and a gash on his head, but now he had his own blood over his cheeks and arms. He'd definitely been punished.

Ward made a rough noise that was almost a grunt. The seconds stretched out.

"You should see the other guy," he said in response to their silent stares.

Fitz looked like he wanted to reach out, but he just couldn't. "Thank you," he managed to say. His hands were shaking at his side.

Ward shook his head. "Don't," he said. "This doesn't even make us even."

"Thank you," said Simmons, even more quietly than Fitz had.

Ward looked at her with surprise. "I'm going to get us out of here," he swore. "I will. Soon." Simmons and Fitz nodded their agreement. "I promise I will," Ward added.

And he did.

Simmons, wanting to return kindness for kindness, said, "And when you do, you won't go running from justice until I have a chance to patch you up. You'll stick around for that."

"I will," Ward said, bowing his head obediently.

But he didn't.


End file.
